Judge Not
by i-only-write-gross-things
Summary: Short fic for the movie "Outpost" (2008). Prior is a bad influence.


"You really need to get laid."

The days in the old, _(seemingly)_ abandoned bunker had taken their toll on all the hardened mercenaries, so Jordan shouldn't have been all that surprised at Prior's sudden statement. For the short time they'd known each other, he'd already pegged the American as the kind of guy to get bored fairly easily. Somewhat irrational maybe, but nonetheless a good soldier.

Jordan looked over at the other man from where he sat huddled above ground, trying to keep the chill away from his stiff fingers. Prior was facing away from him, looking into the forest enclosing them, but that grin on his face was evident as ever.

For some reason, DC had unconsciously seemed to pair the two together whenever he assigned his group to do certain tasks. This annoyed Jordan, but there was really no use in complaining about something so trivial, especially since there were more pressing matters to be dealt with; completing the mission (though he was beginning to doubt the initial information they'd been given) and getting the hell away from this place.

Given the increasing unease he'd felt ever since they'd found that strange man _(or was he a ghost?)_ , Jordan could actually agree with Prior for once; he probably needed to get laid; release all this tension.

He caught himself missing Agnes, even if their marriage had been steadily worsening for the past two years. He'd rather be at home with her than in this secluded, disgusting old bunker. He'd rather stand his ground against her in one of their heated arguments than spend his leisure time with this sleazy American who could never seem to stop taunting him.

"Thanks for reminding me", Jordan finally answered in a somewhat subdued tone. He was tempted to add an "asshole" at the end, but decided against it.

 _(Do not answer a fool according to his folly, lest you also be like him. – Proverbs 26:4)_

Prior just chuckled, took one last gander at the forest and sat down behind his shelter, lighting a cigarette.

"So", he mused. "Want me to help you out, or what?"

Jordan sputtered, despite vowing to himself to not let the other man's words get to him. He was used to most of the other guys (especially Prior) talking about their "sexual conquests" when they found themselves without anything better to do, but Jordan himself had never taken part in it, and had never had any of those questions directed at him either. He found that he preferred it that way, and was duly reminded of it now.

"Jesus, what's wrong with you?", he managed to say, after some careful consideration.

"Plenty o' things wrong with Jesus. Want me to name them?" Prior took a deep drag from his cigarette, maintaining his grin all the while.

"No! You talk enough shit as it is. Get back to your post, make yourself useful."

Jordan felt bold for some reason, and it felt good. He'd never talked back to Prior like this before. Usually, he just gave the man some tame insult before walking away to avoid further trouble. He kept his distance, when he could. But now, they were all alone, under steady watch of the frozen forest, and he suddenly felt unstoppable. Prior could say whatever he damn well wanted, it wasn't going to faze him one bit.

"Aw. You sure know how to hurt a guy's feelings.", Prior said as he snuffed out his cigarette, that smile of his contrasting his words.

 _Good. I'm glad._ Jordan shot him a look again and saw Prior making his way over to him, on his hands and knees, so as to keep low. He sighed, exasperated. Why couldn't the fucker just leave him alone?

"W-what are you doing?", he asked wearily. Had his words actually hurt Prior's feelings? Was he coming over to him so he could punch him in the face? The grin on the American's face made it even more unsettling.

For once, Prior didn't deliver some smart-ass gibe, but rather, sank down onto the cold, hard ground, right between Jordan's legs. Shit, looks like the fucker wasn't kidding after all.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?", he asked again, raising his voice to try and get through to the other man.

Prior laughed, though it sounded more like some sort of bark, fingers sneaking up Jordan's legs towards the fly of his trousers.

"What's it look like I'm doing, Jimmy?" He slowly opened the fly, looking up at Jordan while doing so.

Jordan just sat there, inwardly trembling, not sure what he should do. His first instinct would be to take the butt of his rifle, hit Prior with it _(maybe break his nose for good measure)_ , and then walk back down into the bunker to tell DC that he didn't want to be near the American again during the rest of the mission.

Those pesky morals outweighed his instincts, however, making him re-think the whole "breaking Prior's nose"-part. Surely, he could _talk_ the other man out of this fit of insanity.

 _(You have heard that it was said, 'AN EYE FOR AN EYE, AND A TOOTH FOR A TOOTH.' But I say to you; do not resist an evil person, but whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. – Matthew 5:38)_

"Look, whatever it is that you want, I can't give it to you. If you're so horny, go to that Breather down there. I'm sure he won't put up a fight."

Prior laughed again, once, shaking his head.

"This ain't about me, it's about _you_ , Jimmy." Jordan felt the other man's hands squeeze his thighs. "You're so tense, see? There's no way you can concentrate on the mission like this."

He winced, disgusted, but intrigued all the same, curious as to where this was going, even though he he knew he shouldn't be. Even though it was _obvious_ where this was going.

" _You're_ the one who's making me tense with all this weird crap."

"Then shouldn't I take responsibility?"

Jordan didn't answer that remark, but then again, did he really need to?  
Prior wasn't gonna be deterred so easily once he'd set his eyes on something, and Jordan _did_ need to let off some steam. It's not like Agnes would mind if she ever found out, after all. She'd just see it as another opportunity to throw him out and be done with him. He supposed he couldn't blame her if that were to happen; he would've thrown himself out too.

Jordan sighed, resignedly.

"Fine. But if you tell anyone about this I'm gonna kick your ass." _Just empty words._

Hearing his words, Prior looked back up at him, momentarily pausing his ministrations with Jordan's pants. He almost thought he saw a look of surprise cross over the American's rough features for a split second, but that surprise (if any) was soon replaced by a triumphant grin.

"Gettin' a bit ahead of ourselves, are we?"

"I'm serious!" Jordan hissed, resisting the urge to smack the other man over the head. He probably would've if Prior hadn't pulled down the hem of his boxers right then, exposing Jordan's dick to the biting cold air. "Jesus fuck!"

 _(Do not use God's name in vain)?_

He was already half-erect, apparently, and he was ashamed. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea that this fucker made him agree to–

"Whoa, look at you." Said fucker whistled slightly, letting one of his hands envelop Jordan's hardness, making an experimental tug. "You're really far gone. Ain't so sure I can help you, after all."

Prior spoke in a mock-depressed tone, and it might've been convincing if he hadn't kept on grinning all the while. Jesus, this guy had the worst pokerface Jordan ever witnessed, but what's worse, his hands were far _from_ the worst. Jordan had never been with another man before, hadn't even let the thought cross his mind up until the moment when this rugged redneck was stroking his dick out in the cold, European wilderness.

He'd never have thought it by looking at the guy, but Prior's hands were definitely skilled when it came to matters such as these. This... _man's_ hands shouldn't be so soft, _couldn't_ be, yet they had Jordan's mind reeling in no time.  
His hands shot down, grabbing a handful of Prior's greasy hair, wordlessly hoping he would stop his ministrations because Jordan didn't want to come yet. _Not yet_. His thoughts didn't register as words, his mouth couldn't even form them, but Prior did actually stop moving his hand. Gradually.

"Y'want somethin' else, huh?" As he got down from his initial high, Jordan was able to discern meaning from Prior's words. The man was just gonna keep teasing him about this, wasn't he? It was to be expected, after all. Fuck.

"Just... suck it.", Jordan managed, through gritted teeth.

Prior grinned once again, raising his free hand up to his ear. "Say that again?"

Jordan's grip on the other's hair suddenly tightened, making Prior wince just a tad. Jordan was fed up with the man treating this like some sort of game.

" _Suck. My. Fucking. Dick._ ", he ordered, as quietly as he could possibly muster, seeing as Prior's hand was still clasped around his hardened flesh and that a few drops of precum had found their way out the tip. Suffice to say, Jordan was in no condition to play around any longer.

He couldn't see Prior's face since he'd pushed it further down towards his crotch, but he did feel a huff of hot breath hit his cock as Prior laughed once, making him hiss slightly, before doing a slow lick along the stiff underside of Jordan's cock and sucking the tip into his mouth without warning. Jordan had to bite his lower lip, just in case. If any of the other guys saw this, he'd never hear the end of it. He just hoped to God that Prior wouldn't decide to use this experience to blackmail him in the future which, knowing Prior, was a legitimate cause for concern.

For now, though, Jordan wasn't able to let those things consume his mind. Not with that nice warm pressure engulfing his cock inch by inch as Prior attempted to deepthroat him. He'd made the subconscious choice to not look down and see what Prior was doing, he didn't care about Prior at the moment. What he _did_ care about was that this was a _man_ doing this to him and even though the faint choked noises coming from below sounded distinctly male, even though Jordan thought he could even feel some beard stubble scratch the skin of his pelvis, he found that this time – just this one time – he could see past that and just make the most of this. Nobody had to know. This would stay between him and Prior. It _better_ stay between him and Prior.

His mind was already getting hazy, and Jordan could feel himself slipping; his other senses almost blocked out in favor of the pleasure and the imminent orgasm. He wasn't even aware of when Prior's movements became his own, just that at some point, Jordan himself had become the one in charge by tightly gripping Prior's hair, guiding the man's head up and down his shaft and closer to the finish line. As the facefucking proceeded in speed and desperation to get off, Jordan did look down, if not for admiration of Prior's efforts then at least for the satisfaction to see the American at his mercy and oh, what a sight he was met with.

Prior couldn't seem to keep his eyes open because it seemed that each time he tried to meet Jordan's gaze, tried to get his bearings, the tip of Jordan's dick would hit the back of his throat, making him gag in turn, but even if Jordan thought he saw Prior's face make a wincing expression at some point, the American never resisted; never tried to pull himself free. It was almost like a dream, to be fair. An obscene dream that Jordan would probably be deeply ashamed of later, but in this moment, looking down at Prior's face, watching his continuous struggle to relax his throat and make way for Jordan, seeing his face tinted red from the effort or lack of air or arousal _(take your pick)_ as his eyes watered up, filled Jordan with a sort of awe. Even if this was just an obscene dream, he found he enjoyed it.

He came within seconds, pressing Prior's head down as far as he could take it while shooting his load down the man's throat, a loud groan escaping his lips before he could think to stop it, and the feeling of Prior swallowing just made Jordan groan even louder, until he felt positively out of breath and let his body go limp where he sat; his hands unraveling from Prior's – now messed up – hair as he relaxed, spent and at ease. After a while of catching his breath, staring up into the gray sky while hearing Prior's light coughs in the distance, he decided he was done enjoying the afterglow, if you could call it that. His dick was still out, some traces of his release stuck to the cloth of his pants, but he didn't give a crap then and maybe he wouldn't even give a crap later.

The American was clearing his throat, still red in the face from the pounding his throat just took, but he didn't seem dissatisfied. Their eyes didn't meet for a while, even as Prior fished up another cigarette from his chest pocket, with slightly trembling hands, to take a few calming drags before offering it to Jordan, who took a drag without thinking. For a while, they sat like that, until Prior seemed to be back to his "jolly" old self again, letting out another bark of a chuckle.

"See? Ain't nobody who can resist me."

Jordan was about to say something back when the door to the bunker opened, a metallic and rusty C _LANK_ echoing into the forest around them. Jordan jerked awake from his trance, dropping the remains of the cigarette and burning himself in the process as they watched Taktarov's head emerge from within the bunker, that perpetual and almost comical scowl etched into his rough face.

"DC said your shift is ov–", the Russian paused as something else caught his attention, which was the exact moment that Jordan remembered that he'd forgotten to tuck his dick back into his pants. Wave after wave of shame washed over him as he suddenly attempted to sputter out some excuses as to what was " _really_ " going on, but Prior's reappeared grin was really not helping his case. Instead of helping Jordan come up with excuses, he lit up another cigarette.

Taktarov just stared; eyes going back and forth between Jordan and Prior as the realizations seemed to dawn on him. Jordan was still stumbling over his words, frantically zipping his pants back up in a useless attempt to hide what had just happened, even though Jordan was just lying to himself at this point.

After what almost felt like a Mexican stand-off (without the pointing of guns at one another), Taktarov just let out an exasperated sigh, as if he'd seen this same scenario play out a thousand times over, before heading back down into the bunker, the scowl never having left his face.

" _Protivnyj_ ", he muttered before he disappeared out of view. As Jordan fell into a fit of existential crisis, Prior laughed and took another drag from his cigarette.


End file.
